


i.

by rosaecae



Series: Augmented Reality [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gap Filler, Kissing, M/M, POV Second Person, Prose Poem, Season/Series 01, Season/Series 02, Season/Series 03, Season/Series 04, Season/Series 05, Season/Series 07, i describe a lot of kissing, there is no dialogue in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 16:43:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11294649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosaecae/pseuds/rosaecae
Summary: He looks at you, he looks at you like you’re fucking indestructible. Maybe you are. Maybe you could take a bullet right now, and you wouldn’t feel a thing.You can feel your own youth, tonight. You never feel young when he isn’t around. You never felt young before he came around. He touches you like you’re young. Like you’re halfway his, halfway in debt to the cracked pavement. You are.





	i.

**Author's Note:**

> someday i will grow as an author and do something canon from ian's pov but today is not that day

He is new. Familiar, but new all around. He smells like menthol and soap, and he smiles at you in plain view. He is passionate, and intelligent, and kind-hearted. 

He is the worst thing to ever happen to you.

The air buzzes with raw electricity when you’re in the same room.

He is the boy that feels too much, you learn.

You are supposed to be the boy that feels nothing.

You are not the boy that feels nothing, you learn.

You have no water, that month. He doesn’t care. 

He’s had no water, before, too. You wouldn’t guess it. 

He makes you nervous. You aren’t used to the in-between. You’re used to the extremes. You’re used to the panic. You’re used to the howling laughter. You don’t understand him. He makes you nervous. He makes you blink more than usual. He makes the corners of your mouth turn up the slightest bit. You can’t look him in the eyes, most of the time.

He’s the only one, and he’s not. You know what it means.

He is the worst thing to ever happen to you.

* * *

 

You missed him. You don’t think you’ve missed anyone before, really. But you missed him. You swallow it down, but he is the moonlight, and you try not to stare, but the shadow makes the glow even harder to ignore. 

He looks at you, he looks at you like you’re fucking indestructible. Maybe you are. Maybe you could take a bullet right now, and you wouldn’t feel a thing.

You want to be trapped in this moment forever, until you have the courage to be more. Until you have the courage to trace the curve of his jaw, like he deserves. Until you have the courage to take a minute to breathe, like you deserve. Until you have the courage to be everything he thinks you are.

You’re not sure who he thinks you are. You want to be whoever it is.

You can feel your own youth, tonight. You never feel young when he isn’t around. You never felt young before he came around. He touches you like you’re young. Like you’re halfway his, halfway in debt to the cracked pavement. You are.

His eyes look ghostly in the night. You know it’s only the light. His eyes are life: green. Bursting with growth and thought. You know. You think about his eyes whenever you shut your own. That constitutes a nightmare, sometimes. You know.

He looks at you, he looks at you like you’re fucking indestructible.

* * *

He’s rougher now. He’s taken to your home, while you’ve been gone. Become the loose gravel of the street and the city wind. He knows what you are, now. You’ve made it abundantly clear.

You want all of him, though. You want all of him, but won’t give all of yourself.

You’d run away with him, if he asked. You weren’t sure before, and you aren’t sure now, but you’re approaching the precipice. You keep coming back.

You lose your train of thought, slightly, when he’s around. You lose your mind when he isn’t.

You want to give him the things that he wants you to give him. You don’t want to see him with anyone else, but the commitment is unfathomable when everything is still a whisper. Not even a whisper. An obsessive thought. A fantasy. An omen.

But he’s yours, you know.

You tell him so, wordlessly, roughly. 

You’re mine, you know?

He makes you reckless. You’re reckless. He makes you selfish. You take risk after risk. For him, for you. Selfish.

The first time, you kiss him and your chest feels like the summer air. 

The second time, you kiss him like you were made for him, and you let yourself smile into it. You think he won’t notice.

He does.

He makes you reckless, and you take your time with him, for once. You feel everything. You feel so much, you almost shy away. He has you by the throat, now, though, and he keeps you there. 

You think you’re truly yourself when you’re around him, and the thought makes you lightheaded. 

You trace the shape of his jaw, like he deserves. You take a minute to breathe, like you deserve. You’re everything he thinks you are, for a moment.

He falls asleep next to you. You keep your lips pressed to his skin and wait for the catch.

You’d run away with him, if he asked.

* * *

The words he says are a blur, the air, static. You can’t feel them. You can’t feel his desperation. You can’t feel the tears in his eyes. You’re numb. You’ve been numb for weeks.

You do what you’re told to do. You are given a choice: your life, or your heart.

You choose your life, and your heart stops beating.

He doesn’t understand.

But you fall back into him. His lips are like hot iron, his fingers cold steel, and you think for a second that he’s willing to bend. He takes you like it means something, like you’re signing a contract, and you’re lost in it, in his lips on your neck, and the taste of his tongue, and the frigid surface of the table beneath you.

He leaves marks. He’s the selfish one, this time. He makes you forget a crumbling planet.

You smile, again, if only for a moment.

You wish, later, that you had memorized his face before you shattered his heart.

He never looks at you the same again.

You broke his heart. The world took your heart.

You’re numb.

* * *

He leaves you. He does.

You marry her and he leaves you.

You create busy work, for yourself, but he’s on your mind, he’s on your mind. 

You wonder where he is. You wonder who he’s with. You wonder if he wonders the same about you. 

You have a child on the way. You hold a gun against your temple, in broad daylight, your father in the next room, to see how it feels. 

It’s not all about him. 

You can’t breathe. You look at your wife, and you look at your father, and you look at yourself, and you can’t breathe, you can’t think, you can’t fucking breathe.

You tuck him to the back of your mind. You save him for the night. You save him for the moments you’re caught alone. The moments you avoid. You save him for the fog, for the tightness in your throat and the wretched afterglow.

You ask around, sparingly. No one’s caught on, yet. They treat it like a joke. They ignore his absence. They ignore it.

You wonder if he ever really existed, at all.

* * *

When you find him, again, he’s changed.

He’s the center of attention. He’s that burst of inspiration at nine in the morning. He does what he wants. He takes no shit. He’s a consuming flame. He picks you apart with a single glance. He seduces you without a sound.

You never want to be away from him again.

Everything with him feels feverish. Uncontrollable. You can’t stop with him, from falling into his neon glow. Touching him feels like salvation. You almost don’t care who sees you.

You’re his, you know.

He tells you so, wordlessly, searingly.

You’re mine, you know?

He makes your heart race. Fuck, he makes your heart  _ beat. _

You kiss him against his bedroom wall. 

You kiss him under flashing lights. 

You kiss him through your father’s hatred.

You spit on your fear for him.

He wipes the blood from your eyes and looks at you like you’re finally who he thought you were, all that time ago. Maybe you are.

* * *

You sleep in the same bed. He holds you like you’ll dissolve. He presses his lips to yours for no reason. He fills the spaces in between your fingers. You let him.

You fall into the bliss. You ignore the warnings.

You only think of the flat-line when he’s sleeping. He never sleeps for long.

He makes you smile. He loves your son. You start to love your son, too. Maybe he’s a part of that. 

You’re fearless. You look at him like he’s indestructible. That’s how he feels.

He’s reckless. You start to worry. You start to wonder. You don’t want to admit you were wrong.

He’s the only one. It’s only, only him. There will never, will never be anyone else, for you.

He is the strength in your voice. He is the smile in your eyes. He is the light of your life. 

You manage. You manage him. You have to. You can’t send him away. You can’t lose your heart, again. It gets worse. It isn’t directed at you, yet. You ignore the warnings.

* * *

 

He’s vulnerable. He looks smaller than he ever has. Your heart is torn to shreds, when you see him, like this.

He was your vibrant love. Your fiery reality. He was the sound of metal on metal, the spring rain. He was fresh snow. He was late nights.

Your vibrant love has been dulled, for his own good. Your vibrant love fights to shine again.

Wild-eyed. You should have known.

You settle next to him. You can see in his eyes that he didn’t expect to see you, again. You tried not to exceed that expectation. You failed. You surprised yourself. You surprised everyone. They thought you only cared about the heat. You hope he never thought that.

You know he did.

You love him. You hate the disorder. You hate the disorder, but you love him. You love him. You don’t have to love the disorder to love him. 

His lips move, silent, a plea. A prayer. A spell. You hold him like he’s something secret, and precious, because he is. You hold him like you were born to keep him safe, because you were. You hold him like you’ll never leave him, because you won’t.

You look at the curve of his lips, at his skin, yellow in the dim light, and you hold him like you’ll never leave him. He touches you and breathes like he’s just learned how.

Together, you are the calm and the storm. You are a choked sob at a wedding. You are an eclipse. You are a paradox. Together.

You resolve to be what he needs. As you watch him slip into sleep, you brush your lips to his hair and promise to be what he needs. 

* * *

He’s ripped away from you.

You’re ripped away from him.

* * *

You’ve idealized him. He’s grown up. He didn’t need you, it seems.

You’ve jumped over every hurdle to reach him, but he’s changed, again. For himself, this time. For someone else.

You still love him.

He is the worst thing to ever happen to you.

* * *

You study his face. You study every last pore. He’s three seconds out from dead. You want more, more, you want a minute, more. Have you used all your minutes? Have you reached the end of your fortune?

He’s the brightest star. He’s eternal. Past death. Somewhere in the universe, he’s flickered out, but not here. He’s still young here. 

This, the desert sun, was a hopeful haze, with him. He’s a mirage. Your lips are dry. Your throat is dry. Your eyes aren’t. He offers more than he gives. He fades when you reach him, brightens when you pull back. He’s a mirage. 

You press him against the car, and pray for rain.

And he kisses you like you’re the furrow in his brow. You are, you suppose. The bitterness in the corner of his eye. That last missing piece he’ll never quite fit into his world. He kisses you like he knows you, and only you. 

You kiss him like he’s the thrill in your chest. You kiss him like nicotine. Like the sting in your knuckles, like the heat on your skin. You kiss him like, if you could cash in all twenty-two birthday wishes you never made, every single one would be him. 

He clutches you, he isn’t gentle. His fingers dig into your skin like you’ll turn to ash, if he lets go.

That’s how you know he isn’t a liar.

Your fingers skirt across his skin. You’re afraid to touch him. You’re afraid of his acidic gaze. You’re afraid of your own memory.

But you study his face. You study every last pore. You study the feeling of his skin on your fingertips, you study his taste. His breath floods the hollowness in your chest. You study that, too. 

He leans into you, again. You hold him in place. His eyes are resolute. His eyes are an apology. 

You want to kiss him again. You don’t. You love him too much. 

You expect him to be gone, when you look again. But he isn’t. He watches you go. He watches you until he disappears over the next hill. He watches you with red-rimmed eyes, with that same, familiar, heart-beat sadness you’ve come to know so well. 

You don’t watch him the same way. You watch the desert road.

**Author's Note:**

> [gll-vch.tumblr.com](https://gll-vch.tumblr.com)


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